


Smoke & Mirrors

by Cipporah



Series: The X and Y Series [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Real Person Fiction, Thor (Movies) RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, hiddlestoners
Genre: Erotica, F/M, NSFW, Oral Sex, Paris (City), Porn With Plot, Sex, Sexual Content, Smoke & Mirrors, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cipporah/pseuds/Cipporah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone in the City of Lights, Tom falls victim to the advances of a seductive stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke & Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dangerously smutty story. Prepare yourself. Cheers!

The rain was pouring outside but that didn’t stop the hotel’s bar from being packed full of people. He knew he should have just gone straight up to his room, but the live band was like a group of sirens, their smooth jazz beckoning him to their corner, begging him to stay for a drink. He swirled his pint of beer as he surveyed the large room. Every man seemed to have an attractive lady by his side, whispering sweet-nothings, running a playful hand down an arm or up a thigh. He gave a small smile at the cozy scene and swallowed some of his frothy drink.

He sat staring at the large window across the room from him, his thoughts running rampant. He liked how the rain trickled down the large pane of glass, some droplets merging into one as they raced to the bottom. His one hand tapped along with the soft medley of saxophone and piano, while the other absentmindedly circled the rim of his glass.

A server brought him out of his head. “Monsieur,” she said, “That woman bought this drink for you.” She pointed to a distant table and set a whiskey in front of him.

It was not every day that a female bought him a drink. He followed the server’s finger - the woman sat alone at a table by the fireplace, her back to the musicians. She had been watching him it seemed, their eyes instantly locking when he finally made contact. The raven-haired lady's fingers individually fell in a slow sort of wave, and she sent him a quick wink. He couldn't stop the smile from spreading on his face. He rose from his stool at the bar and walked up to her.

“Pardonnez moi, Mademoiselle, parlez-vous anglais?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, a look of amusement on her features.

He glanced at the empty chair across from her. “May I sit?”

“Please.”

He set his drink on the wooden table, the crackling fire adding a subtle undertone to the jazz quartet. The woman watched him take his seat, her full, red lips not moving from the rim of her wine glass.

He extended a hand towards her. “I’m Tom.”

“Dahlia,” she said, taking his hand in hers. There was an undeniable warmth radiating from her palm, one that even the fireplace couldn’t match. Her fingers stayed wrapped around him for a moment longer than he expected, and he could feel his face grow hot.

"Thank you for the drink, Dahlia." He raised his glass towards her. "Santé.”

She gave him a single nod, a corner of her cherry-colored lips twisting upward. "Santé," she repeated, copying his gesture so their glasses clinked. Dahlia reached into her bejeweled clutch, pulling out a cigarette and lighter.

“Will it bother you if I smoke?”  Her voice was raspy, and heavily accented.

“No, go ahead,” he said, motioning for her to continue.

Her lips squeezed the end of her cigarette as she carefully lit the tip, her stare never faltering from his face. Dahlia's eyes finally closed when she turned her head, blowing her smoke away from him.

“You are in Paris long?” she asked, flicking the end of her cigarette into the crystal ashtray.

He watched the orange embers fade to a dull gray. “Not long at all - I leave for London tomorrow.” He couldn’t help but notice a particular gleam flash across her coffee-colored eyes.

Another puff of smoke clouded the air as he slowly sipped at his drink. They sat like that, smoking and drinking, surrounded by idle chatter and a rich beat, for some time. Dahlia was a woman of very little words - he wasn’t sure if that was due to her limited English vocabulary or if she was simply trying to uphold a mysterious persona. Whatever it was, he was intrigued by this Parisian.

"You like to dance, Tom?"

He chuckled lightly, his hand going to the back of his neck. "I do love a good dance, yes." He glanced around the room, noticing the limited space between people and tables. "I don't think there’s enough room, though."

She shrugged and took a final drag of her cigarette before extinguishing it in the clear dish - the butt was stained with a ring of lipstick. Dahlia rose from her chair and stood in front of him, her figure a black silhouette against the roaring fire. She offered the palm of her hand to him. "Dance with me."

He looked from her to his drink before his gaze lingered on Dahlia: her big, brown eyes and pursed lips made for a very good case. She bought him a drink, it was the least he could do - dancing was, after all, his kryptonite. He finished the remainder of his whiskey in two gulps and placed a tentative hand in hers. Her grin widened and she led them a few steps closer to the band. Even with her stilettos, the top of her head barely reached his nose.

The hand she placed on his shoulder sent little sparks of electricity through his being, as her other tightly held his extended one. Her black cocktail dress hugged her curves, fitting her body like a glove. He enjoyed how soft the fabric felt rubbing against his palm. Fellow patrons gave the occasional glance, never lingering on them long, though he caught some women dreamily observing as the saxophone’s soft croon set their pace.

When Dahlia looked up at him, he could feel himself getting lost in the pools of chocolate. “Your watch, it’s nice,” she said, breaking the silence between them.

He glanced down at the obsidian accessory peeking from the sleeve of his jacket. “Thank you - it’s a Movado.”

She looked back at his wrist in admiration. The piano’s chords slowed their tempo and he used the hand at her waist to pull her in closer. His right cheek rested against the side of her head, their bodies swaying to the soulful melody. Dahlia’s hand slid across his shoulder, her fingers playing with the curls at the base of his scalp - his eyes shut at her gentle touch, as he envisioned where those fingers could travel next.

He was not sure how much time had passed when he opened his eyes again. All he knew was that the bar had significantly less people than earlier. "It’s getting late," he murmured into her hair. He didn’t want the night to end just yet, however. “I have a room upstairs…”

Dahlia pried her head away from his chest. “ _Take me there_ ,” she said, her voice faint. He was eager to oblige.

He led Dahlia into the lift, the band's siren song fading as the doors closed. Their hands were still clasped as the lift jolted upward. She stared up at the mirrored ceiling and his gaze met hers - he realized this was the first time he saw her in actual lighting, no flames to give off a misleading orange hue. Her skin reminded him of creamy dulce de leche, smooth to the touch and most likely just as sweet. Her reflection smiled coyly at his, a subtle gesture that made his stomach lurch.

When they arrived in his room, she walked to the center, facing him, waiting for him to join her. The room was dark, save for the city lights that gave the space a hazy filter. He flicked on a switch and his own private fireplace came to life - Dahlia glowed in its presence, hugging herself as she swiveled away from him and looked out the glass balcony doors. The view was distorted due to the clinging raindrops, but the Eiffel Tower still sparkled majestically in the distance. It was a beautiful sight to behold, but then again, he was staring at his own Paris attraction.

He quietly slipped off his shoes and socks and neatly folded his jacket on the nearest couch. He walked up behind her, the carpet muffling his footsteps, and snaked his arms around her torso, his face nuzzling the nape of her neck. Her gasp made him smile against her caramel skin. He placed a trail of kisses down her spine until the border of her dress stopped him.

“ _Tom_ ,” Dahlia sighed, her hands moving down to cover his. She rotated, her nose grazing the bottom of his chin as she looked up at him. He lowered his forehead and rested it on hers, and they stood still, eyes closed and time passing.

Dahlia made the first move - she put a firm hand on his chest and gently pushed him towards a couch. When he felt the cushion behind his knees, he sat and watched her back away and mirror him on the twin couch just down the width of the fireplace. They stayed like that, meters away from each other, listening to the fire and rain. Was it a game? Seeing who could crack first? There was a sly look on her face, as if this was all part of some big scheme. He kept his cool, slumping back into his off-white seat.

Her smirk was vicious, her eyes calculating, but she was ultimately defeated by his smoldering gaze, he knew. She ran a hand down her tanned leg and slowly slipped those aching heels off her feet and tossed them aside. Her arms contorted, reaching behind her back where he heard the distinct pull of a zipper. The zipper had a slow, drawn-out, agonizing journey and Dahlia seemed to relish the torture it brought him.

She stood in front of her couch, the next phase of her plan set in motion. She gradually shrugged out of the thick black straps, and he watched as they tumbled down her arms until the entire dress eventually pooled at her feet. She was left standing in her matching bra and panties: red, lacy, obstructing. Dahlia slowly freed her raven hair from it’s bun - he held his breath as it cascaded in soft waves onto her bronzed shoulders. If ever she was a vixen, it was there, in that attire, basking in the fire’s light.

She glided towards him as if the world was hers for the taking, and he would have given it to her willingly. Dahlia placed a folded leg on either side of him, and straddled his ready lap. The heat that emanated from her was felt in full force on his groin and his body temperature spiked. She didn't seem to notice as her fingers danced down his arm and unclasped his watch, sliding it on her own wrist - it travelled down to the middle of her forearm.

She carefully shook it until the face was positioned towards her. “Looks nice, yes?”

“Very,” he answered, his voice quavering at the sudden awareness of her breasts against him. “It looks better on you than me.”

Her laugh was cheerful as she tossed her head back, her hands grasping his shoulders for support. “That I do not believe. You make everything look good.” She pulled at his tie, bringing him forward. “But, why do you wear a nice suit to a bar? To make all the men look like boys?”

He had to clear his throat so he could get the words out. “I had a film premiere to attend, actually.”

Her interest piqued. “You are a movie star?” Dahlia asked, her eyes like those of a child in a sweet shop.

“Yes, well, err, um, just a couple of films.” he quickly stammered, hoping she wouldn’t catch him in his lie. He found fame always complicated relationships, even the occasional, casual flings - he leaped at the chance to convince her otherwise . “Independent mostly, low-budget, probably ones you haven-”

She placed a finger on his lips and hushed him, effectively stopping him mid-sentence. “ _No more talking_ ,” she whispered, widening the tie loop and slipping it over his head. Their faces were so close he was positive he was just inhaling whatever she exhaled. Her eyes searched his for a moment before her lips fully engulfed his.

He had not expected her to come at him with such force and was pushed back into the cushion. The cigarette still lingered on her breath, but the wine she drank made her taste more like a smoky, tarty bouquet. Their tongues maneuvered to and fro, avoiding each other one second and charging at each other the next. The erection pressing against his pants was unbearable.

With their mouths still connected, Dahlia swiftly unbuttoned his white-collared shirt - he shifted his arms to help her fling it off his heaving chest. His undershirt soon followed it's predecessor, launched to an unknown corner of the room. His upper body was completely bare now and her hands grazed every dip, ripple, and curve of his newly exposed skin. Dahlia abruptly broke their kiss, but she was hungry for more than his lips, he soon realized. Her mouth traveled to his ear, gently suckling on his lobe, before returning to his face and making a path of soft pecks down his jawline.

She stayed at his neck, her teeth nipping at pieces of his pale skin. He sharply inhaled and she looked up and grinned quite cruelly. Her body lowered itself, and he felt her legs slink onto the floor beside his feet. Wherever her hands traveled on his chest, her lips were never far behind - when Dahlia reached the waistband of his pants, he could safely say she had touched or kissed every centimeter of his torso.

Dahlia unbuckled his belt and jerked it free - she wrapped one end around her open hand and held the belt taut in front of him, a brow raised and mouth crooked. He could only imagine the risque scenarios her mind was running through, and his excitement was evident. She casually tossed the belt aside and instead slid a curious finger between the band of his pants and his skin, watching him squirm at the light contact.

She bit her lip as she feverishly worked to release him of the confines of his trousers and underlying boxer-briefs. He sat on the couch, fully exposed, and his cock hard. Her eyes were wide when they met his, and full of desire. Dahlia turned and rifled through her nearby clutch, pulling out a condom.

“Better to be safe,” she breathed, ripping the wrapper open and shaking the latex free. Her fingers wrapped around his erection, gentle and warm. He could feel them glide over the ridges of his shaft, stopping when they reached the head and sliding back down again. She repeated this fluid motion, and a low growl escaped his lips.

Dahlia situated the condom on the tip of his cock, rolling it down to cover his entirety. She gave him a final glance before kissing the end of his throbbing organ. The kisses evolved to licks and he was soon granted entry into her gaping mouth.

Her tongue was skilled, running up and down his shaft quite nimbly. It toyed with his head and every flick sent little ripples of pleasure coursing through his body. Dahlia cushioned him with her tongue and started moving her mouth up and down his length, sucking the strength out of him in the process. His hand stretched out to her jet black locks and her eyes of melted chocolate found his. He teetered on the edge, knowing sweet release was just at his reach - Dahlia could tell as well, and increased her speed. He gritted his teeth and grabbed at her hair, holding her at bay.

“ _Your turn_ ,” he snarled. Through her labored breath, he could see a sultry expression form on her face. Dahlia crawled backwards, giving him ample room to meet her on the floor. She sat on her legs, exactly in the middle of the two couches. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and held it there for a moment. “Oh, ma chérie,” he said, adoring the way her blushed skin looked against his palm.

He ran his hand down her neck, passed her shoulder, and continued his descent on her arm, stopping at her wrist. The watch still hung loosely on her arm and he unfastened it, placing it in the pocket of the pants strewn next to them. Dahlia had followed his movements and her eyes lingered on the pocket for a second before finding his gaze again. His arms wrapped around her and fiddled with the clasp of her scarlet bra - it came apart easily, almost as if it too wanted to be liberated of her body. He flung the laced contraption on the couch behind her as his eyes returned to her chest.

Her breasts were small, but perky as the fire illuminated them. He placed a hand on her torso, right underneath her bosom, and applied slight pressure, gently pushing her back onto the animal skin rug beneath them. She laid on the plush carpet, her raven hair fanned out, and he admired her nearly-naked body as he hovered over her. He quickly ran a tongue over his lips before they collided with hers.

Her wine-and-smoke infused breath was intoxicating, to put it mildly. Her tongue thrashed with his, uncontrollable, like a rabid animal. His hands, formerly entangled in her locks, made a passage down her neck and onto her breasts. They were firm at first touch, but unbelievably soft once in his palms. He could feel Dahlia sharply suck in air as they molded into his hands.

He pulled his lips away, smiling, and her eyelids slowly flickered open. He followed the process she used earlier, starting at her ear, breathing and yanking her lobe with his teeth, before kissing her down the length of her neck. His fingers traced over her peaks, gently plucking at her tits as she squirmed below him. His hands enclosed her mounds, his tongue flitting across a hard nipple before jumping to the other one. A low moan escaped Dahlia’s lips, music to his ears.

Perspiration dewed on her body as he kissed his way to her navel and continued south, removing the last obstacle that stood in his way: a red-laced thong. She bucked her bare hips toward him as he neared her folds and he grinned at her readiness. He watched her as a curious finger ventured past her curls and brushed against her clit - the little gesture made her eyes grow twice their size. He chuckled to himself as his finger rounded her nub, gradually increasing in speed and force.

His mouth ventured to the area between her thighs and took his finger’s place, his tongue carefully encircling her most sensitive spot. His finger skirted around her opening before he suddenly plunged it into her - Dahlia gasped and clutched at his hair. To say she was wet would be an understatement, this woman was sopping, all for him, because of him. Another finger joined in the repetitive thrusting, and then a third, as his tongue massaged away at her clit. He could feel her body writhe around him, and her walls pulsed around the fingers he had in her.

The grip she had of his hair tightened and her thighs squeezed his shoulders. “Tom!” Dahlia exclaimed, her breathing choppy. He looked up in time to see the whites of her eyes before she collapsed into a limp heap on the rug.

There was a smug smile on his lips as he watched her chest erratically rise and fall. “I’m not done with you yet,” he stated, grabbing both her thighs and holding them at his waist. “Are you ready?”

The back of her hand covered her forehead, but her eyelids fluttered open as she came off of her high. “ _Oui_ ,” she purred.

The end of his cock roamed around her opening, lubricating himself on her flowing juices. He gripped her thighs as he charged into her and she squealed as her walls conformed to his penetrating member. It was a tight squeeze as he continued to go in and out of her. Her hands latched onto his back, her fingernails digging into his alabaster skin. It felt good, the pain mixed with pleasure. He bit his tongue as his hips repetitively met hers, their skins clapping at contact.

Dahlia’s mouth was open, her strained, incoherent sounds barely reaching his ears. She clamped down on his arms and pulled herself up to his chest. He stopped his movements to catch his breath and noticed fiery, brown orbs staring back at him. “You. Lie down.  _Now_ ,” she commanded.

He obliged and chewed his cheek, restraining from saying something cheeky and saluting at her orders. He was on his back, taking a much needed breather, as she straddled him once again. Dahlia took his cock in her hands and slowly eased herself onto him. She winced as she accepted his full length, but once he was fully inserted, she began to gyrate smoothly on top of him.

She was a goddess riding a steed to war, her body slick with sweat. Her eyes were closed, lost in the sensation, and her hips rocked to a beat he couldn’t hear. She ran her fingers through her hair, freeing loose strands from her clammy forehead, before her hands landed on his pectoral muscles. She used him for a support, her waist continuing to circle his member, and their gazes locked on each other. Her rhythm increased as her right hand shot to her clit, rubbing it profusely.

Dahlia was nearly there, he could feel her walls clench around him and he reached forward and took the place of her tired fingers. He swirled her nub as she bounced on him, one of her hands holding a breast while the other was latched on the crown of her head.

She stopped and shrieked, “ _Mon Dieu_!” as her body shuddered on top of him - he eyed her as a second wave of satisfaction washed over her countenance, erratic panting the only sounds she emitted. Her hands flew back and rested on his knees, as her body arched toward him. She had to chew her bottom lip to stop it from quivering, and he had to restrain himself from letting go then and there. Not just yet. A little longer.

He pulled out of her and flipped her onto her back. He grabbed Dahlia’s legs and hooked her knees on his shoulders. He gripped the skin at her waist and guided his erection into her wetness. This angle gave him ample room as he continued to drive his cock further, harder, faster. His vision was blurring and he closed his eyes, biting his tongue to keep his groans at a minimum. Her fingernails dragged down the curve of his back, stopping at his cheeks, forcing him closer to her.

His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his eyes shot open as her simple push propelled him into finally spilling his seed. “ _Fuck_!” Relief cascaded through every fiber of his being as liquid ecstasy pumped through his veins. He broke their bodily connection and fell to the floor next to Dahlia, nothing more than a puddle of meat and bones.

* * *

 

They laid on the pillows he brought down from the bed, the pristine white duvet covering their naked bodies. He had a hand behind his head and was staring at the shadows the fire cast about the room, thinking about nothing in particular - his mind was a clean slate, gloriously free from the thoughts that plagued him daily. He knew this moment of clarity would be gone come morning, but he was determined to appreciate the emptiness while it lasted.

Dahlia’s quiet rustling made him turn his head toward her. She had a cigarette in her mouth and she flicked the lighter at the tip and breathed in - smoke puffed out in a sigh as she held it loosely in her hand. A clap of thunder made her twitch and she glanced over at him.

“Can I bum that off you? Just for a second?” he asked, looking at the white stick wedged between her two fingers.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow but she met his hand mid-air to pass it off. His lips went around the red ring and he inhaled - he could feel it fill his lungs as his chest puffed out. He blew a cloud of smoke above him and returned it to her. They exchanged it like this until the cigarette was just a useless filter, and he flicked it across the floor. It was some early hour of the morning, and their vigorous activity had left him relaxed but exhausted. The soft pitter-patter of rain in sync with the crackle of wood provided the sweetest of lullabies. Sleep came easy.

Dawn's light was trickling into the room when he opened his eyes next. A hand wandered beneath the comforter, to the spot next to him, expecting to find a warm body, but instead he glided over the lush rug. Perplexed, he rolled over to investigate. For a second he thought Dahlia was just in the bathroom, but a quick survey of the room made him think otherwise - there was no sign of her undergarments, dress, shoes, clutch. It seemed she had taken every trace of her existence out of his room and out of his life...well, almost every trace. A piece of the hotel’s stationary was sitting on the pillow her head last occupied.

_Tom,_  
 _I had the best night. Sorry to run off. Wish you a safe journey to London._  
 _X,_  
 _Dahlia_

His eyes shut and he heaved a sigh. He had been looking forward to having a guest, someone he could share room service breakfast with. Perhaps it was for the best, the last thing he needed was a distraction as he readied himself to leave. He rose from his makeshift bed and threw on his complimentary robe. He thumbed over her dainty scrawl and folded it up, tucking it into the mesh pocket of his suitcase. He could always get breakfast on the way to the airport… a shower, that’s what he desperately needed - he reeked of their late-night rendezvous.

The room still smelled like her when he emerged from the bathroom, which put a sad smile on his face, as a wave of pleasant flashbacks hit him. Still, he tried not to dwell on the past and slowly dressed himself. He was far more casual than he appeared last night and he wondered if Dahlia would still think he made ‘men look like boys.’ The thought made him smirk as he slipped on his runner watch.

He was looking at the time when another thought crossed his mind. He fished about his suitcase, rummaging through various pockets of his clothes, checking different compartments of his bag. He furrowed his brow as he crawled on the ground, looking under the bed and around the rug and in between couch cushions. His iPhone vibrated on the mantel of the fireplace, a chorus of Mumford & Sons’  _The Cave_  ringing out.

“Hello, Luke, how are you?” he asked into the microphone. He stared at his image in the mirror above the mantel, tidying the wet curls atop his head.

“ _Oi, will you get a move on? Your flight leaves in a couple of hours_ _._ ”

“Yes, sorry, I am just making sure I haven’t forgotten anything. You didn’t stop by my room, did you?”

“ _No, but I’m about to if you’re not down here in the next five minutes._ ”

“Right,” he said, his eyes shifting about the room, “I figured as much. Okay, see you soon.”

He set his phone on the bed and scanned his luggage again when he noticed a small red mark on the back of Dahlia’s folded note, one he hadn’t seen before. He flattened the paper and flipped it over, revealing her final message to him:

_P.S.  
Merci pour la montre._

She ended it with a stamp of her red kiss as the signature. His mouth fell and he let out a scoff of disbelief, as he reread her writing:  _Thank you for the watch_. Well, mystery solved. He slowly walked to the glass doors and stepped out onto the balcony. Paris was alive under the morning sun, the streets bustling with cars and people. He held onto the metal railing, his right leg stretched behind him as he observed the scene below.

Dahlia's note was crumpled between his palm and the railing. He could feel it prickling his hand until he finally smoothed it out. Those red lips seemed to be mocking him - he had them memorized, but he never really knew the person behind them. Was Dahlia even her real name, or just part of the con? The Eiffel Tower stood proud and tall in the horizon, and he too straightened his posture. He flattened the hand that contained her last words and extended it past the balcony. The corners fluttered in the breeze and it was soon whisked away, traveling like a leaf in the wind.

The sun made his eyes squint as he watched it sail into the city. “ _Au revoir, Dahlia_ ,” he said under his breath.

He turned and walked back into his room. He was not sure when he would be rid of the woman who consumed his mind. He was not as cross as he thought he would be, just confused and saddened mostly. This surely meant he would never see her again, whether she was scared of getting caught or because she truly had no interest in him from the start - the latter pained him more than any stolen trinket could. If only Dahlia had taken his memories instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading! I'm off to write the next installment of Weapon now!


End file.
